


space age, road rage, fast lane

by futureboy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: 5 Times, Bad Flirting, Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureboy/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Five times Gavin couldn’t give a compliment. Birthday present for @jeremwood.





	space age, road rage, fast lane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rothecooldad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothecooldad/gifts).



> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]
> 
> For my wonderful Babble Buddy @jeremwood/[@rothecooldad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rothecooldad). Happy 21st, you excellent person!!! I love talking to you and brainstorming with you ♥ Also I know you have a fascination with how Gav negs Matt so I ran with him being a bit mean.
> 
> Title from Catatonia’s ‘Road Rage’. It’s delightfully Welsh.

 

 

1.

Gavin can’t commit to a compliment.

He knows this. He _knows_ it’s a problem. It gets even worse when he really fancies someone, say, but for the most part, he tends to awkwardly cock up and deny observations such as Michael’s new glasses, or Geoff’s new tats, or whatever the hell colour of dye Jeremy’s smeared his scalp in this month.

(It’s a good job he’s got friends who need to be put in their place sometimes. That’s all he’s gonna say about it.)

The problem occurs during one of the Fakes’ idiot-moron-super-races, which is how Gavin refers to them in his head, but not how he refers to them out loud. Michael’s in the lead. Lindsay’s bringing up the rear and she keeps sprunking Ryan, to Trevor’s delight. Gavin’s in a solid joint third place, side by side with Jack - until he isn’t. Matt Bragg swerves in gracefully out of nowhere, barely even leaving tire tracks, and knocks Jack’s car neatly out of the way. It’s almost like he’d disposed of it.

Gavin, his elbow out the window and his face suddenly colourless, lets his mouth fall slack.

Matt’s crouched forwards in his seat. His long legs are comically tucked into his chest, and his hands fly over the steering wheel with every sudden twist in the road. Gavin remembers to look away to concentrate on his _very_ fast driving for the briefest of seconds, and glances back to spot Matt’s hair whipping in the breeze of his open windows.

“You drive pretty,” he murmurs. The ‘t’s drop out of the words all by themselves.

 _“What was that?”_ Matt says, over their comms. Gavin can see him grinning away to himself in his driver’s seat. His immediate thought is: _well, we can’t have that, can we?_

“I said,” he yells, stomping on the accelerator, “you drive _shitty_!”

And he roars into third place - _singular_ third place, this time - laughing loudly as he does so.

 

* * *

 

2.

Matt’s got himself a haircut.

It looks soft. Conditioned, maybe. Gavin doesn’t know about that, because he doesn’t use conditioner, but it’s all shiny and fluffy and has these gorgeous pink streaks at the sides which remind Gavin of the Shotaro stashed in his personal garage.

He’s freaking out a bit. Hell, his lower jaw has been frequently becoming unstuck from the rest of his face lately.

It’s not even just the hair. Matt must’ve gotten a cracking little trim, because he’s beard is all combed and _oiled_ or something. Bragg looks like he’s been punched in the face with a makeover. Maybe that guy from Queer Eye with the perpetual green stick recommendations is in Los Santos right now.

“Gavin, can you pretend to concentrate for at least two seconds whilst I explain this shit? Come on, dude, most people would rather hear the not-dying instructions before they jump out of a plane.”

“We’ve done it a million times,” he says flippantly, “we’re all good. We’re fine. Continue.”

“How gracious of you,” says Ryan drily. “We’re all done, though, so you’re up first.”

Several parts of Gavin’s body clench immediately. “Right. Okay. Yep.”

Ryan throws open the door as they hurriedly pull on their parachutes. It’s Gav, Ry, Matt Bragg, and Lindsay, who’s being suspiciously quiet. Jack’s up front. (Jeremy threatened to piss his pants whilst sitting on Ryan’s lap if they took him up in the air, so the Crew made the sensible decision to leave him at home.)

Gavin throws his legs over the edge. Wow. It’s windy today.

Beside him,, Matt tightens his parachute straps.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” says Gavin, “I’m always ready.”

“I hate this bit,” Matt grins.

“I like your beard,” says Gavin’s traitorous mouth, over the rush of air and the roar of the plane’s engines.

And thank Christ above - _Matt doesn’t hear him properly_. He cocks his head, and his fresh trim flutters in the doorway: “what did you say?”

“I said ‘I think you’re weird’,” Gavin corrects himself, “this is the _best_ bit, how can you not like it? Anyway. Bye!”

Jumping out of an airplane to escape his own embarrassment is not the stupidest thing Gavin’s ever done, but it definitely makes the list of ‘things he can never talk about with anyone else, ever’. Whoops.

 

* * *

 

3.

Kingpin. Pattillo. Rimmy Tim. Golden Boy. AxialMatt.

Geoff and Jeremy are in the back room of the store, a hostage in their sight and duffle bags ready for the important loot - the diamonds. Jack, Gavin, and Matt are in the storefront. Matt’s got a pistol aimed at the door, just in case - Jack’s got her hands in the display case.

“What about this?” she says, turning around and whipping beaded strings as she does so. It’s an enormous glittering headdress. Some kind of Mardi Gras wotsit, Gavin reckons. Crammed full of feathers and jewels and all sorts.

“Can I try?”

“Yeah, go ahead, Gavin,” Jack grins, and plops it down onto his crown.

“It’s _heavy_ ,” he complains, as Jack laughs so hard she cries. “My cranium, Jack! I’m being crushed!”

“I’m not helping you get that off,” Matt says, over his shoulder.

Gavin is so enamoured with how done with the general bullshit this man is - how he’s trying not to laugh, because Matt _is_ genuinely tired, but he kinda loves the Crew’s shenanigans, too - that he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“I wanna date you.”

Jack gives herself whiplash. “What?!” she half-laughs. “What the hell, Gavin?!”

“What’s wrong with that? I said that I really hate him, he won’t even help me in my time of need. I’m being _crushed_ , Matthew, save me--!”

Gavin doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. At that moment, a police car swerves onto the sidewalk outside the jewellery store, sirens blaring and officers leaping out with weapons drawn already. The morons can’t even remember their own safety glass exists, and the bullets crack the panels like they’re a boot through an iced-over puddle.

Matt’s gorgeous, stunned expression slips from his face as quickly as the shells from his pistol do.

 

* * *

 

4.

“It was my fault.”

“It turned out okay.”

“But I caused it,” Gavin says miserably, “I was dicking about and I distracted you.”

“The cops would’ve showed up anyway. They would’ve fired at us anyway. You wearing a exotic dancer headdress and whining couldn’t have changed that, Gavin.”

Gavin won’t be told. He refuses. All he wants to do is lie on Matt’s lap, curled up on the enormous couch in the Fakes’ penthouse, and make sure that Matt’s knees are okay. They _seem_ okay from this perspective, but he can never be too careful.

He’s having an adrenaline crash. There’s coffee brewing in the kitchen, be he can’t be arsed to go and get it. Not when he’s so comfortable.

“Warm,” he mumbles into Matt’s jeans.

“I’m sorry?”

“Moron,” he says, more clearly. “I’m a bloody cretin, Matthew.”

“That much is true,” Matt says kindly, and runs his fingers through Gav’s hair whilst he begins to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

5.

 

Matt _must_ be seeing a stylist. Seriously. Gavin still hasn’t asked him about the haircut yet, because he keeps getting embarrassed and absent-minded every time he tries to bring it up, but this new t-shirt is the last straw. He’s gotta ask. He’s _gotta_. Is it tailored? It has to be tailored. Usually clingy material makes Matt complain about his own proportions - Gavin never has complaints - but he seems to be comfortable in this one. It hugs him.

It hugs him very nicely indeed.

“Your shirt’s absolutely killer,” he manages to mumble, on the third occasion of Matt wearing it. They’re in a warehouse, waiting for further instruction. Somewhere, somehow, Lindsay is ‘causing a distraction’ on the airport runway.

Matt hears him. There’s nothing else for him to do, really. “Um,” he says, flushing so brightly that he matches his hair, “thanks?”

“Erm,” Gavin mirrors, cursing himself, “I meant--”

_Stop talking! Stop saying things, Gavin! It’s going well!_

A hundred rhymes and half-rhymes flicker through his head - the one he seriously considers is ‘your hair is getting thinner’ - but eventually, his brain gets tired with playing the same old games. He wants something new. He wants something exciting.

He wants Matt.

Something in his mind shuts off abruptly. What the shitting hell is he doing, faffing about with take-backsies and the like?

“I meant,” he starts, and shuts down.

Oh, wow. He really wants to kiss him. Matt’s eyebrows are in his hairline, waiting for his clarification:

“Do you… Do you want to go for dinner?” he asks sheepishly, itching the back of his neck with the grip of his pistol.

Matt winces. “Yeah,” he says, “I will if you stop fucking doing _that_. It’s putting me on edge, man.”

He tucks the pistol into the front of his jeans instead.

“Better?”

“No,” Matt lies. His eyes flicker downwards.

Gav knows he’s got a problem. There’s something about Matt Bragg that makes him want to spread on the meanness a little thicker. But ‘dinner’ isn’t a compliment, so he doesn’t feel _too_ distressed about it. He feels he navigated the situation rather well.

**Author's Note:**

> Cheers for reading - if you like my stuff, maybe consider author-subscribing to me! Kudoses are also appreciated. Noice.
> 
> My fic blog is [here](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com/).


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